


Fairy Godmother in Training

by Sadsnail



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fairy Godparents, Family Fluff, Gen, Good Family Vibes, Kid Fic, Tooth-Rotting Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 13:01:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29402373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sadsnail/pseuds/Sadsnail
Summary: It was that time of the year, Hogwarts, School of Witchcraft and Wizardry came calling in the form of one Professor McGonagall. But Sam Fee always knew he was a fairy godmother.
Comments: 6
Kudos: 5





	Fairy Godmother in Training

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks [Neymovirne](https://archiveofourown.org/users/neymovirne) for the beta!
> 
> Loosely based on a bunny from Kiterou :)

Sam Fee knew he had magic ever since he was four and his brother crushed his toy car with a hammer. It had been a test of the car’s strength as Andy aimed to become a scientist and experimented on anything that stayed in place long enough.

Their mum had read Cinderella to them the night before, and it took no thought at all for Sam to fetch a small pumpkin from the vegetable drawer and transform it into a tiny golden carriage so that he could continue with his game. He told no-one because he didn’t think it was something abnormal. Later that evening, when their mum packed away the toys they had missed, she placed the little golden carriage in his sister’s closet, and Sam forgot about it soon after.

For the next seven years he didn’t do any magic again. Perhaps because Andy had been sorry about the car and was not the type of brother that broke things on purpose, so there was no need.

Sam did not forget about the magic, though. He would without fail stop to stare longingly at the plastic wands in toy stores, be attracted to glitter, and be voted the most helpful in his class. Because of all this, and because of one toy carriage years ago, Sam Fee knew with every bone in his body that he was a fairy godmother.

That was why, when Professor McGonagall came the day after his eleventh birthday and told them he was a wizard, he said, “No.”

“No?” the Professor asked, raising her eyebrows in surprise. “I assure you, Mr Fee, we do not make mistakes. You are a wizard, and you can do magic.”

“Lame,” his sister Eliza said and asked if she could be excused. She was fifteen this year, and there was more magic in her drums and boys.

“I will need to do some experiments,” Andy said. He stopped examining the pig that had been their coffee table not ten minutes earlier, and asked if he could be excused to go get his microscope. “Prepare to donate blood,” he told Sam ominously. Andy was against animal experiments but had no qualms about testing whatever the theory of the day was out on his family.

“Back to work for me,” Sam’s dad said and asked if he could be excused to his office under the stairs. He was a writer, and found his magic in words. He messed up Sam’s hair on the way out and told him to have fun.

“Well,” Sam’s mother said and looked from Sam to Professor McGonagall who was a teacher in a magical school in Scotland, to the pig. “I do not doubt the Professor, Sam. You’ve always been a little bit magical. There were a few months as a baby when you enjoyed floating around the ceiling—your dad wrote a book about it—but why did you say no? Is it so hard to believe?”

“I’m not a wizard, Mum. I’m a fairy godmother.”

Professor McGonagall laughed. Sam’s mum blinked. Sam waited patiently for her to consider his statement. He had full trust in her, she was the smartest woman in their town; Andy had done a survey three years ago and then suggested she run for the Town Mayor. She had been elected by a landslide then, and every year since.

“Are there fairy godmothers?” his mum asked the Professor.

“Not really, no. In the past we had a few witches that enjoyed helping Muggles, although of course with the Statute of Secrecy they couldn’t do it openly. I believe you can find some books about them in the school’s library.” She turned to Sam who secretly thought she would be quite the strict teacher but he liked them that way. “We do have fairies, but they are tiny creatures living in plants. I can assure you, Mr Fee, you are definitely not a fairy of any sort, you are a wizard.”

“Hmm,” Sam’s mum said and tapped a manicured finger on her knee. “What about the Tooth Fairy? We never needed to place anything under Sam’s pillow when he lost a tooth. If they exist, then surely a fairy godmother isn’t so far fetched?”

They didn’t? That was news to Sam. He had received a shiny coin each time just like his brother and sister.

“Yes, she is real enough,” Professor McGonagall said and sighed. “But the Easter Bunny, Santa Claus, fairy godmothers and a few others are myths. If they did exist, they would have been a helpful witch or wizard, or worse, one who liked to pull pranks on Muggles.” She spoke definitively, and it was clear to them that she had tired of the subject in the way she straightened her back. “Let us discuss school supplies…”

School supplies were boring no matter what type of school it was, and Sam stopped listening. He would have liked to excuse himself also but it would be poor manners as he was the subject of the visit, so he sighed and tickled the pig’s ears. Witches and wizards but no fairy godmothers? He didn’t think so. Somewhere out there he had a godchild, some miserable urchin that was praying for relief, and Sam only hoped this Hogwarts would provide him with the tools to care adequately for him or her. Whether Hogwarts believed in him or not.

Andy returned bearing his microscope, bunsen burners, stacks of slides and beakers, and dropped them on the floor next to Sam’s chair since their coffee table was snuffling in the corner. He left to get a knife from the kitchen. “Does anyone want tea while I am there?” he asked. No one did. Professor McGonagall because she was preparing to leave, and Sam and his mum because Andy was a scientist first and foremost, and a loving family member second.

* * *

“Do you really want to be a fairy godmother instead of a wizard?” his mum asked that night, tucking Sam in bed.

“It’s not a matter of want, I am a fairy godmother,” Sam said with surety. He knew it on a cellular level and would not have been surprised had Andy found his mitochondria labelled so.

“All right. Then we will close the topic, and I will leave you with this thought. You’ve not said anything about wanting to be a girl before, and traditionally the word mother is assigned to the females or childbearing members of a species. Now, I am all for bucking tradition if you want, and we will of course support your every endeavour, but I would propose a gender-neutral rather than a gender-specific job title which might ultimately at some level promote sexism in the workplace when you’re older. Consider rebranding yourself as a fairy godparent. When you think about it, saying fairy godmother instead of fairy godparent could reinforce the popular image that fairy mothering is solely a job for women, which is something you definitely do not want. It might make it difficult for them to take you as a man seriously in the position. We’ve seen the Professor’s reaction to it already, and they seem to be an… old fashioned lot.”

Sam’s head spun, a regular occurrence after one of his mother’s speeches, and it took him a moment to parse what she had said. He would never have thought about any of that. He was glad he had a smart mother who did. He waited a moment to make sure she had quite finished, before he said, “I’ll think about it. Thanks, Mum.”

* * *

The whole family took the trip to Diagon Alley and made a day of it, entering every shop they saw from one end to the other and oohing and aahing amazed at what they found.

Eliza liked Knockturn Alley the best, as gore was her thing and Halloween her favourite holiday. Andy made them stay an hour in the Apothecary. He was disappointed to hear that all the ingredients would just turn into a strange tasting tea under a Muggle’s hand. “Oh, well,” Andy said, putting the cauldron down with some regret. “There’s still a lot in the world for scientists to explore; I’ll leave the study of magic for when I’m done with that.”

Sam had no preference at all. Everything was exciting, and he was starting to look forward to school even if it meant he would miss his family something awful. Well, perhaps the ice cream shop was the best—he had tried the minty slug-ice, and his shoes had trailed slime down the cobbled alley for a full minute. It hadn’t had any effect on his family but they had enjoyed the taste and had a good time seeing the bowls float over to the patrons.

They were all happy for Sam, that he finally found his own thing, like Andy with his science, and Eliza with her drums. Sam felt like they were his personal cheerleaders; they pushed him to the fore in every interaction and introduced him to all and sundry as the wizarding world’s newest Fairy Godmother in Training, a campaign proposed by his mother to get the wizards and witches used to it. ‘Godmother’ because Sam had decided not to buck tradition, and really, he liked the oddballness of it.

At Madam Malkin’s they had a bit of a stall. 

Sam knew they would have uniforms, it was in the letter, and he had uniforms in primary so it was not anything strange to him. But it was all so... black. In primary at least it had been green. Black pants, black robe, black hat, the only thing white was the button up shirt that would be hidden beneath the robe.

“Can I have it in pastel?” he asked anyway, putting the pointy hat on his head to test the fit. He turned on the small platform he was standing on and caught sight of himself in the shop’s mirror. He was wearing his favourite combination, white jeans topped with a lavender coloured shirt made of soft satin that shimmered in sunlight, and the pointy black hat looked out of place. Godmothers in all the books he had ever seen wore light, happy colours that very often glittered, and he hadn’t realised it up to now but he had probably been emulating them. He didn’t have a dark thing in his closet. “Or something that glitters?”

“All uniforms are standard,” Madam Malkin said while her pins attacked him. “If we allowed one kid to deviate, we’d have to allow all, and what would we end up with? Someone running around in a bikini! Anarchy!”

“But you are allowed to wear your own clothes after class and on weekends,” her young assistant added helpfully and giggled when madam Malkin frowned at her. “If you want shiny, that’s the time.” She went on to explain how the colour of their school ties and the trim of their robes would change once he had been sorted into a house: scarlet and gold for Gryffindor; blue and bronze for Ravenclaw; green and silver for Slytherin; and yellow and black for Hufflepuff.

“Are you going to choose your house based on their uniform?” Andy asked, taking his pencil and notebook out.

“I don’t see why not. The gold and the silver sound nice.” Gold gleamed, but silver shone, which was even better. His mum often teased that Sam had a lot in common with magpies.

“You don’t choose your house, your house chooses you,” Madam Malkin said.

“How?”

But that was the best kept secret of the day. Like everyone else, she only smiled and said, “You’ll see when you get there.”

* * *

“Mr Sam Fee,” the old man in the dimly lit wand shop greeted them softly. “Welcome to Ollivanders. I’ve been waiting for you.”

His eyes seemed to glow, and the hair on the back of Sam’s neck rose. “You have?”

“Oh, yes,” Mr Ollivander said with a broad smile and flipped a light switch on, exposing the fact that he didn’t like to dust. “You are my last customer. Been taking your time, have you?”

“Yes, sorry, there’s just so much to see. How do you know my name?” Magic, they were finding out, was peculiar, to say the least. Sam had quickly learned that you could ask freely but that there wasn’t always a guaranteed answer. Unless you counted ‘it’s magic’ as one.

“Sam Fee, wizarding world’s new fairy godmother in training? My dear boy, I think everyone knows your name by now.”

“Success!” Sam’s mum said and held her hand for a high-five. Sam’s dad slapped her palm, then Eliza, then Andy, then Sam.

Mr Ollivander laughed in delight.

Sam’s parents left to go get a takeaway dinner before the shops closed. “Get something shiny,” his dad said before stepping out.

A tape measure floated over and started in on Sam, measuring everything from the length of his eyelashes to the width of his nails. He stood patiently, having been through the same at the tailor’s. Slim, rectangular boxes started flying from the shelves, arranging themselves in a neat little row on the counter, and Sam stepped curiously closer as they flipped their lids open one by one. Nothing shone. Everything gleamed, yes, but did not shine.

They had seen Professor McGonagall’s wand and loads of others during their delightful day, and he was excited for his own, but his heart sank when he saw the polished wood. Unbidden, a picture sprang to mind of a jewel-encrusted wand that sparkled in the light. Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo…

The four-year-old Sam who listened agog to the fairy tale read by their mum that night long ago threw a silent tantrum in his mind. Sam told him to mind his manners and not be a ninny and stepped closer to pick up the first wand.

The polished wood felt warm and smooth in his palm. Not bad. But not good. He gave it a small wave under Mr Ollivander’s encouragement, and the shop owner smiled broadly when nothing happened. “Next one, if you please, Mr Fee.”

That became the sentence of the hour. “Next one, if you please, Mr Fee. Next one, if you please, Mr Fee.” Boxes and boxes flew over and fell dejected in a heap. Each wand felt like it had a personality of its own, and each wand tasted Sam’s magic. Some sparkled and some fizzed, but all said a unanimous ‘no’ to which Sam agreed.

“Hm,” Mr Ollivander said. “Only one other had this problem before.”

“Harry Potter, yes?” Eliza said, waving a wand. Nothing happened; it was just a piece of wood in her hand. “We heard. We had ice cream with him, and he told us all about his first trip to Diagon.” She took up a second wand and drummed them against the dusty window. Harry Potter was starting his fourth year and was a little young for her to have a crush on, but she did think he was cute. “If ever someone needed a fairy godmother, it would be him. Mum gave him an application to fill out.” She tapped her favourite song. “Sam, stop fooling around and get something shiny.”

“He doesn’t have anything shiny.” The shelves were practically empty by now.

“Did you ask?”

Older sisters were the worst when they were smarter than you. Sam asked.

“We do,” Mr Ollivander said and waved his own wand. A large case floated down from the highest shelf, and the dusty counter cleared of all the discarded wands. A tingle of excitement started in Sam’s toes and he leaned forward, but Mr Olivander was not in a hurry now and turned theatrical. All the discarded boxes flew back to the shelves en masse with a loud clatter, and only when the shop was tidy did he turn the case around and flip the lid.

The inside shone. Sam’s breath stalled. His heart gave a twist. Seven wands, each more magnificent than the other lay on a bed of red velvet. Each were crafted from near-translucent white wood, with multicoloured jewels that he couldn’t name except for the pearls which his mum wore to meetings. Mr Ollivander knew them all. He pointed them out one by one and explained that all had Fairy-breath cores. These were exactly the type of wands that a special group of witches used to carry when they helped unfortunate Muggles, Mr Ollivander explained. Sam might have heard the stories? Mr Ollivander’s wide pale eyes shone with humour. The Muggles called them Fairy Godmothers?

If Sam had not been so taken with the sight before him, he would have given Mr Ollivander the stink eye for the unnecessary run-around. As it was his siblings did that for him, stepping up to cover his back.

“You’re not allowed to touch,” Sam told Andy when he felt him move closer, not taking his eyes from the magnificent display. “No experiments. This is mine.”

“I won’t,” Andy said. His word was his honour; scientists should not lie.

“It’s not a drumstick,” Sam warned Eliza.

“It wouldn’t work as one,” said Eliza who looked over his shoulder and knew immediately which one her brother would choose. She cuffed him in a sisterly manner and told him to get on with it she had a date.

He did not have to try each one. His wand was in the middle. Pearly white wood with silver inlay, and a dazzling pink star-shaped sapphire glowing in the tip where all the others had round stones in the hilt. It glittered and appeared to be vibrating in place. He reached out and it—she—practically jumped into his palm, cool to the touch and his. Sam was in love and knew the feeling was reciprocated the moment they touched. Pink sparkles trailed the air as he gave her an experimental wave and magic coursed through his body making his hair stand on end. He barely heard Mr Olivander’s shout.

“Bravo! Maple, eleven inches with a Fairy-breath core,” Mr Ollivander said. “Congratulations. A fitting wand for our new fairy godmother. What sets it apart is the silver inlay and, of course, the pink star sapphire, Mr Fee. I imagine you’ll find power through hardships, and it’s usually drawn to wizards and witches who show intense love and compassion.” He clapped his hands together and Sam and his siblings jumped. “That will be ten galleons.”

* * *

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry._

Sam sat down on the small stool and looked at the sea of expectant students in the Great Hall. Colorful banners floated over their heads, portraits were crowding together to have a look, and to the side one of the ghosts gave him a thumbs-up. He couldn’t suppress his excitement and grinned when Professor McGonagall plopped the talking hat down on his head.

He had met Harry Potter again on the station. The older boy had told Sam he had no need for a fairy godmother and that Madam Malkin was wrong; when the time came, Sam would be allowed to choose his house if he had a preference. Taking a deep breath, Sam clasped his hands together, and asked, “Silver, please?”

“...”

“Hello?”

“My apologies, you surprised me. Silver, you said? It is not usual for students to choose their house by colour.”

“I like the aesthetics. It would go well with my wand.” Sam pulled his wand out of his shirt pocket and held it up for the hat to examine. A hush filled the hall, but Sam did not notice. “See?”

“I do. Better be… _Slytherin!”_

* * *


End file.
